Now Wouldn't That Be Nice
by SeeMyEvil
Summary: From the point of view of Richard Whitlock, a friend of Alice Brandon at the Mental Asylum in Biloxi. And then again in the future, when Richard’s tale is passed on. Alice learns what she has forgotten, and in turn gains another part of herself.


Alice had died in the night—at least, that was what they told us. But Daniel, the only kind attendant, had disappeared too. He'd been deeply affected, they'd said. 'Daniel was resting in his room'. No he wasn't; I had passed his room on my way into the dining hall—the door was wide open. The doctor always lied; the clinically insane weren't to be trusted. He feared we might try to escape, but with what tools? Our rooms were solid brick and our beds made from straw. There was no metal there. And we were accompanied to the restroom.

"Ludicrous," said my friend. He stood beside me, reaching for my hand. It was nice when my friend visited; he dulled the boredom inside the asylum. He had always been funny. But apparently, he didn't exist. He was an illusion. According to the doctors, anyway. I didn't trust them because they lied.

"I know," I murmured. He looked up to me, because he was only shoulder height, and studied me with large and imploring eyes. He knew I was hurting. I had liked Alice and I had enjoyed the secret touches we'd shared. She was small like my friend. But she was special, because she could see the future.

"Alice isn't dead, you know," my friend told me. I swivelled in my seat to face him. He stood on the cold floor, grinning at me like he had a secret.

"How?" I inquired. I had also passed Alice's room on the way to the dining hall; the door was half ripped off and her straw bed strewn all over. I supposed they had tried to save her, and that was why her bed was gone.

"I saw her running across the fields." I furrowed my brow at that.

"Richard!" A hand slammed down on the table behind me and I turned. My plate clattered on the rumbling wood. Now I was frightened. The doctor had seen me talking to my friend, and he didn't like me doing that. He said that the longer I talked to him, the longer I had to stay here.

"I'm sorry, sir." My head hung close to my chest in shame. Shame that I felt when the doctor had this look in his eye. That reproach, the disgust—why was he the doctor? He clearly _hated_ me.

"All is well, Richard. I can see that you're quite distracted," he muttered, casting a wondering glance at the spot my friend had been standing. With a sigh he straightened up. "Now, I'll get Nathaniel to escort you to your room." With a parting smile, he brushed down his smart suit and walked away. I only had a basic t-shirt and pants to wear with simple shoes that kept me from the floor. My friend tugged on my shirt, and then pointed in the direction of the door. Or rather, it was a doorway. My friend sniggered and ran off through the arch, disappearing around the corner.

I was meant to follow, but Nathaniel found me first. He looked confused by my full plate of slop but decided not to comment. Nathaniel was blonde and had a very strong face, the features always distorted into some kind of expression. He was average in his manner though, not smiling or appearing sad. There was no sympathy for the clinically insane.

He did not speak, but took my arm as I stood up and led me out of the dining hall. We had to pass through the women's ward before we could get to the men's. This often led to awkward situations in which women would begin to unclothe in a fit of madness. The female attendants would swiftly throw a blanket over the women then, and the unfortunate men would look away. Not that women weren't a lovely sight but it just wasn't done to publically ogle them like that. And they weren't in their right minds, which made it even worse.

No, it just wasn't right.

Nathaniel led me through to my room and locked the door behind me. I didn't know what kind of treatment this was supposed to be for me, but then, there wasn't much else they could do. There was no such thing as magic. No stories like the ones I had been told as a boy. The closest I came to entertainment was when Alice would sneak over to sit with me in the dining hall. She would impart her latest predictions on me and smile.

"_You're going home soon," she said, pushing her spoon into the slop with distaste. I snapped my head to look beside me; she grimaced as she sipped from her spoon. Alice didn't look at me though, only straight ahead. So I followed her example, concerned that we were being watched. Our bodies were so thin the attendants probably couldn't tell man and woman apart from behind. After all, we wore the same clothes. _

"_What makes you think that?" I asked her, studiously tracing the cracks in the wall with my eyes. She smiled to the cracks and swallowed, her throat pulsing with the horrid liquid._

"_I heard the attendants talking, Daniel and Nathaniel. They said you were getting better, and that if you didn't kick up any more fuss you could probably leave the asylum." I breathed deeply at that, pleased to hear it. Maybe my father would have me back again, because he hadn't forced me here. I had come here myself, knowing that something was missing; or perhaps, that I had too much of another. I was a fool. _

"_How soon do you think, Alice?" She considered this for a long time, eating the slop on her plate and staring into space. I did something similar, but instead talked to my friend for a while. He didn't have much to say. In fact he seemed displeased by Alice's presence._

"_What are you talking to freaks for?" he said venomously. A gave him a sharp look, wanting a gag to come upon his mouth for such a harsh thing to be said. He didn't bat an eyelid, and continued to speak. "She's a liar, you know. The attendants didn't say anything." Sighing, I reached out to smack him across the face. He dodged my hand and disappeared. _

"_I think, in a month," Alice said, thoughtfully. She hadn't even noticed my one sided conversation with my friend. This was probably something to do with the doctor saying there was no-one there. My friend didn't exist. "Richard?" _

"_Alice!" Daniel shouted angrily. "Get away from Richard, you're not allowed to sit there," he continued calmly. _

Where did he spring from?_ I wondered. Alice ducked her head beside me, picked up her plate and walked to the opposite side of the dining hall, Daniel chewing her ears all the way. He was so protective of her, it was almost brotherly. But then again, he was the kindest attendant in the hospital. Although, I wondered how he got away with caring for a female patient. Because she wasn't violent? Because it was a low level problem? Perhaps._

It was two weeks since I'd last spoken to her, and last night when she disappeared. Or died. When I thought of Daniel, I couldn't help but notice his strange colouring—it was so rare that pale people stayed pale in Mississippi. But Daniel managed it, even though he had the most time off out of all the attendants.

There were times when, impossibly quickly, he would catch a falling spoon and hand it back to its owner. And his eyes changed colour, no-one's eyes changed colour as often as his did. Black, orange and bright yellow. My friend had a theory about this, that Daniel was also mad and that the superintendant let him play an attendant as treatment. I told him that insanity didn't usually change physical appearances so radically. He went on to call Daniel a demon. At this, I gave up on reasoning with him and just ignored him for the remaining hours of the night.

My friend was funny _and_ irritating.

"Richard, you're free to leave now," the superintendant told me. I grinned, pleased by this revelation. I had anticipated this wake up call for a month and the door was wide open. I could go, and I could return to my family. I could _live_ again. It had been a very long five years.

The superintendant led me out of my cell, down the corridor to the front entrance, and pulled his keys out. With great gusto, he unlocked the large door and ushered me through it. His moustache rustled in the strong winds and he pulled his hat on.

"I have to take you back into the city," he said, by way of explanation.

I stopped at the road paving and stretched as high and wide as my weakened body could manage. Next I took in a breath of the wind, clean and free of the stench of waste. Then I looked at my surroundings, saw the ocean far in the distance and called out in the wide and open space. Freedom was never so loved as now, for I had greatly overestimated the capabilities of the doctors inside the asylum. How stupid of me to think of them as magicians.

I was twenty three years old and I was alone. My father, the doctor reminded me earlier that week, had left Biloxi and there was no way of contacting him. The doctor said he'd sent a letter to my father about my impending release, but that the letter had been sent back with _Unknown at this address _scrawled all over it.

"Richard, we have to go now," my friend said gesturing towards the superintendant who had a carriage ready for me. He smiled to me as I walked over to the carriage and climbed in behind him. The large wheels swayed slightly as I clambered up the steps. The upholstery was dark but soft under my hands as the horse handler took off.

We rode in silence, having nothing pleasant to say to each other. Yet somehow, it wasn't awkward. My friend seemed just as comfortable, staring out the window at the empty landscape. Just trees and green. Boredom. But I was _free_!

The carriage, which had been moving quite swiftly through the wilderness, abruptly stopped and the quiet screams of horses filled the air outside the carriage. The carriage was flooded with heavy light, blinding me and the superintendant.

"She'll be upset when she finds _you_ dead," a snarling voice called from the carriage doorway. His shadow was looming and wild, moving as quickly as a bloodhound. The voice snarled again and dragged me from the carriage, shoving me into the gravel covered road. There was that blinding light again, the shine of a precious stone in sunlight. I huffed at the sight, because the light came from the man, his face filled with unbridled hatred. He tossed the carriage on its side where it fell into the ditch. The horses were gone, having their reins torn in half were galloping off in the distance.

"Alice will be very upset when _you're_ dead," he said, as he took me by the collar. The fabric threatened to rip under his fingers. And all I could see was red; I didn't know if it was my own blood or another illusion of mine. Whatever it was, I felt surrounded and trapped by it. I knew I was in danger, but why couldn't I hit him? Well…I was weak.

"She died two weeks ago!" I told him desperately. He snorted at that and then began to search the landscape. My friend _knew_ the doctor had lied.

"Where are you, Alice?! Where did you _hide_?" Sniffing the air he turned back to me. "You stink of Daniel. What's your name, boy?" His breath was powerful in my nose, such a sweet smell was hard to find anywhere other than nature. How could a man like him be so rich?

He shook me then. "Richard Whitlock, I am Richard Whitlock!" There was no recognition in his eyes, only hatred. With a snarl he released me from his grip and ran to the horizon, to the west. He did not shine now.

**12****th**** May 2010**

It was on this day, that the great grandson of Richard Whitlock would have to find Alice Brandon and hand her his letter. It had been Richard's life work to find his friend from the asylum again, but to no avail. All he knew was that the man who searched for Alice did not succeed in his hunt, and that Daniel was not a real person. He had discovered that when he searched city records for Daniel _Sands _as he had known him. Richard was convinced that he met a vampire that day in the carriage, and looking back realised that the red he had seen was the vampire's demonic eyes. Still, Richard Whitlock died clutching the letter in his hands on June 16th 1960; exactly 40 years after he was released for the institute.

His son Samuel had continued to search for Alice Brandon, with significantly more success. He had found her on the outskirts of Chicago, holding a photo from seventy years before in his quaking hand. This was another thing Richard had managed to retrieve from old records. But his son was sceptical of his mad father's idea—after all, he had spent five years in a mental asylum. His son walked away, breaking his promise.

Now, James Whitlock, who preferred to be called Jack, would do what his father and his father before couldn't—out of cowardice or simple lack of resources. _Jack_ would hand Alice Richard's letter. Here he stood confident of his knowledge; confident in his father's work. He walked up the garden path and tapped his fist on the door.

Even more bizarre was that Alice had, in fact, married to a Jasper Whitlock. Jack couldn't help but wonder if her husband was a distant relative. Jack's heart pounded in his chest at the prospect of meeting real live _vampires_. Resting a hand over his breast pocket in this rare Seattle sunshine, he protected the letter from damage. It had been well kept.

The door opened and there was Alice, as slim but as lovely as ninety years before. She looked unsure as she stood in the doorway, her hand pressing into the wood like it was made from steel. The wood began to creak under her grip and she immediately straightened, within human possibility of speed. She smiled grimly up at the middle-aged man who stood on the porch.

"Can I help you?" she inquired in a small voice. She studied the man whose hair was a sandy blond and eyes a darker grey than any she'd seen before. His hand was still pressed over his shirt pocket. But she knew what was hidden beneath the tan skin of the south. And she knew that she wouldn't know. The letter would remind her of nothing.

"Yes," he answered dumbly. "My name is James Whitlock, and I'm the grandson of one Richard Whitlock. I have a letter from him that he asked my father to deliver to you…" His light tone faltered by mention of his father. He didn't approve of Samuel's fear, though he felt it himself. Jack didn't like to be crippled. Jack reached into his pocket then and drew the yellowed and worn letter across the threshold, offering it to young Alice Brandon. "But he is indisposed." _With a chronic case of yellow bellied chicken fever._

Alice smiled slightly up at him and took the letter as though it would crumble under her touch; as if a great paradox would unfold and destroy the Earth to shattered rock. The envelope was crinkled and sealed with a long red bow wrapped all around it. Jack appeared uneasy in the doorway, looking like he wanted to say something more but not knowing what he _could_ say. What would spoil his grandfather's letter?

"Thank you, James," she said, with a definitive tone of dismissal. She hated to act. Jack bowed his head and wedged his hands in his pocket, wondering over Alice's yellow eyes and disillusioned by his grandfather's account of bloody red eyes. Jack was always a child at heart, and wanted to meet a true vampire. Richard had.

Alice stepped back away from the door and shut the glass and wood structure in his face. Alice didn't enjoy acting. Turning to rest her back on the door and slipping slowly down to sit, she clutched the letter of Richard Whitlock in her pale hands. Jasper and Bella were the only people who stayed behind from the weekly hunt to be moral support for Alice. When she had seen it on Wednesday the previous week she had broken down, desperately trying to remember anything of Richard who obviously cared deeply enough for her to pass on such a long awaited message. Ninety years!

"Alice?" Jasper came round the corner from the kitchen, where he had listened intently for any trouble. He had measured her mood all through the short conversation and been startled once again by his own family name. But brushing that aside, he came to sit beside Alice, who was still unable to move from her spot on the floor.

"Bella, can you come here please?" Alice's sister-in-law had been reading her copy of Wuthering Heights, salvaged from her old room back in Forks. The ragged pages were discarded on the hard wooden floor in Edward and her bedroom as Bella moved as quickly as any vampire would in a crisis. "Will you open this letter for me?" Alice asked.

Bella was stunned, blinking rapidly in shock at her sister who wanted to pass a ninety year burden on. But Alice was not burdened, because she could not _remember_. With a sigh, Bella took the letter from Alice's reaching hands and untied the neat bow on the front. She was almost frightened that she might rip it in half. _But if Alice let her handle the letter_, she told herself, _surely things would be okay_.

"Thank you. Can we go and sit down somewhere?" Bella wanted to reply that they were sitting down, but thought better of it and moved over to the small wooden chair they kept in the hall in case of sudden visitors. She gingerly sat down, pushing the envelope open. Jasper leant against the door beside Alice and claimed her hand.

Bella's eyes narrowed in focus, a leftover human trait. "Do you want me to read it out?" she inquired, a furtive glance rolling over Alice as she studied the old style handwriting.

Alice nodded and Bella began.

"_Alice Brandon, what a long time it has been. You may not remember me, but I'm sure my son has introduced himself and me to you in conversation. I am Richard Whitlock and I am free! I was released from the institute a month after we last spoke, just as you had predicted. Although, I was saddened to find you were gone two weeks before I could leave. Daniel too. _

"_I wish I could see you now, in the year 1970 something or beyond. But I have most probably died by now; put some flowers on my gravestone won't you? I have just wanted to know what happened to you all those years ago, and I wanted to know why I was attacked by a walking diamond. Or, vampire, as I like to think. This man was quite angered by your disappearance, and after he left me in the fields outside of Biloxi I decided that I would research Daniel. Who this man also was, I also was frustrated with. I found that he never existed._

_I do wonder where you are now, but I hope that you are well. I know that you are well. Clairvoyant vampire, forever nineteen years old. Now wouldn't that be nice?_

_Yours,_

_Richard Whitlock_"

"Wouldn't that be nice…" Alice murmured. Bella handed Alice the letter with a dazed expression, as though she didn't know what to say. She was thinking of walking diamonds. Alice wondered about Daniel, a flicker of a memory. Just yellow eyes and pale uniform. Darkness.

"Could he be talking about James? Frustrated by your survival and Daniel's defiance, he hunted anyone he'd seen you close with. Richard was close." Bella leant on her knees with her hands holding her head. Jasper put a comforting arm around Alice, sensing her confusion and upset as she read the letter again and again. She wanted to see something more.

But there was nothing more, and Richard was dead. Alice wondered about putting flowers on his grave, just as he asked. She could easily research him, Jasper knew where to look. With determination, Alice rose to her feet and walked to the computer in the study tapping away at the keyboard on Google. She searched until the rest of the family came home when she finally found Richard Whitlock. The Catholic Diocese of Biloxi.

In the end, only Jasper and Alice decided to go to Richard's grave. She felt it would be disrespectful if there was a whole fanfare for a person only she had once known. But she still couldn't remember, even having waited until September to get a suitable window of time for them to visit. Alice wanted to visit her sister's grave as well, though she was yet another person that she could not remember.

Alice had bought white gerberas, not wanting to be clichéd about the whole ordeal. Alice did not like to be clichéd.

She and Jasper walked through the rows upon rows of graves behind the church before they finally found his grave, just a slab of stone with his birth and death date inscribed. She wished humans would be more celebratory about death, but then cursed herself for being so cruel. They could not celebrate death because they only had limited time themselves. No-one wants to be reminded of their mortality.

She laid the gerberas beneath the golden writing and leant into Jasper.

"I wish I could remember something of him…" She stared wistfully into the clouded skies, wondering if Richard could see her from his perch in heaven—if there was one.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, you can't help it," Jasper reminded her. But Alice would not be comforted.

"But I just feel like I let him down, Jasper! Ninety years he waited to give me that letter, and it could have been much less had Samuel Whitlock not changed his mind. I should have stopped Samuel when he stood outside our door in 1987." Jasper shook his head, wrapping his arms around her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Samuel made his decision. And from the feelings I got when James spoke of his father, I'd say that he resented Samuel's actions. He was _angry_ when he spoke about Samuel. So please, don't think that he went unpunished. You should not punish yourself for not stopping him." Alice attempted a smile at this, Jasper trying to relieve her worries. She loved Jasper, and he loved her.

"I know…" she replied, turning to the grave once more and drawing the folded up letter from her bag.

Addressing the gravestone she spoke to Richard.

"I am pleased my clairvoyance came to use for you, Richard. And I am pleased that I have finally received your letter. But I am so sorry for my sudden disappearance, and I am truly saddened that you were attacked by a walking diamond. You see, I had evaded him as a human and he resented that. No-one had escaped his grasp before." Alice smiled slightly.

"Except for you, Richard. Who stood in the face of death and lived.

"But it is the new millennium now, your grandson handed me your letter just a few months ago. I am sorry it took me this long to reply.

"This clairvoyant vampire lives as young as the day she died and I promise you, it is quite nice. I am very well, Richard.

"Goodbye."

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little tale. **


End file.
